Stormy Nights
by Lady Ami-chan
Summary: This is a poem-fic thing I did. It was inspired by ryuuen's songfic. Never much liked Tomo, but he's a good chara! He gets to fall in love... Read and review? Please?


Note If I owned any of the Fushigi Yuugi characters, I would be very happy. But since I don't, I'll have to be satisfied with writing lovely fanfics from afar. Sigh. (Yu Watase is the luckiest, meanest woman in the universe. If anyone ever gets the hankering to write a fic for me, pair me with Amiboshi? Please? I will love you forever and write one just for you!)  
  
  
  
The cloak that concealed him from view served the dual purpose of keeping the cold wind and icy rain from pelting down his spine. Usually, in Kutou, the winter nights were cold and clear, so crisp that when one moved, they almost felt the air part for them to pass.  
  
It was unusually wet this season. The rutted roads were slick with mud and grease. It made travel unbearably difficult, but for the slender young man on foot, it was easy to navigate.  
  
The night had fallen around him with the sweet sound of rain spilling over dew-covered meadows. He was in his element. Wild nights such as this were his passion, his love, and he lived to be out in the very middle of it all, feeling the wet, sea-scented gales rake his body raw. But there was no time to shed the heavy, sodden black cloak tonight. He was on a mission.  
  
We always promised that when winter came  
  
We'd be together...  
  
Do you still care?  
  
The scouring rain that had seeped through had rinsed his face clean of its customary black-and-white makeup, leaving his pale face exposed for what it was. Tomo was only a mockery of something good, something whole, something clean. He shivered, an involuntary reaction that had nothing to do with the temperature, and sped his pace. There wasn't a reason for him to be out any longer than he had to be.  
  
He was tall, no doubt, and slender, attributes that his normal mode of dress -- that could hardly be called normal -- flattered impeccably. His crimson-and-gold tunic was tailored carefully to fit his slim body. Tomo stood proudly, despite his shame.  
  
That was right. He was ashamed of what he was, of what he did. The makeup not only served to shield his features, but shielded as well who he was. He kept himself locked within, caged in a cauldron of chaos that he hadn't broken yet.  
  
The fragrance of roses lingered on upon the black cloak, remnants of its former owner. He had taken it from the cloakroom, for hadn't anything black of his own. The woman wouldn't mind, if he didn't leave his own spicy- sweet male scent upon it as a marker that he had worn it. She didn't want Nakago to think they were in any way connected, but in reality they were close friends with an easy understanding of each other.  
  
Did the willow's tears take you from the path?  
  
It cries for faithless love like ours.  
  
Are we leading some poor couple astray?  
  
Or causing the weeping willow's tears?  
  
Tomo kept his silence, persevering against the wind that tried its best to threaten to knock him from his path. He was resolute on his own way. His steps became belabored as the mud clung to his boots. Without a word, he shook them clean and continued.  
  
Tomo just was. There wasn't much else one could say about him, because he kept everything hidden so very closely, kept everything but the crisp fury out of himself. His mind was as sensitive as they came, feeling every instant as though it was ever-healing, but ever-aching, as well.  
  
Beneath the veneer of crackling flame that Tomo lifted against pain was a brilliant, sweet man with a heart of gold. Beneath the paint and headdress was a pale, handsome face with bright amber eyes and waist-length onyx hair that fell about his shoulders silkily. He was beautiful, no doubt, but he couldn't let others see the emotional side of him. The barrier had been up too long.  
  
We can't give in to the loneliness we feel.  
  
Just because I'm myself doesn't mean we can't love.  
  
Just because the willow weeps for us doesn't mean we can't smile.  
  
Though he was slowly tiring didn't mean the rain was. He was tenacious, but that didn't mean a thing. The scent of roses filled his mind and heart as, homesick, he trudged through the mud without a care. Tomo's destination was gone from his mind as though washed away by hours of the motion through the cold rain. He was soaked thoroughly through. A low moan escaped him, his voice so different from the one he used to cover up his reality. This one was quiet and sensuous, evincing the weariness of him.  
  
It was so very tempting to give up the ghost there on the side of the road. Even though it was a dishonorable death, Tomo didn't deserve any other sort. He wasn't an honorable man. Any honorable man would have showed the luscious depths of his heart by now. He wasn't cruel. He kept trying to convince himself, but he knew how well his black gloves were stained by the blood of innocents. There was never a purpose to kill without reason.  
  
Light shone suddenly through the sheeting rain, up ahead. Through rain-fogged amber eyes, Tomo could discern the outline of a small cottage on the side of the dusty pathway. Was it a mirage or his saving grace?  
  
We can't be together until your heart mends.  
  
I'll hold you until the willow's tears stop.  
  
And we'll show the world that meant-to-be is real.  
  
The words to the old ballad played in his head over and over. He choked on rainwater, then stumbled, landing face-first in the cold, wet mud. Tomo struggled himself upright, but the mud clung, and he was weak. What an ignoble way to lose it all, in sight of the lamp burning in the window of the cottage. He gave a croak of a sob, heaving himself back upwards. "No..."  
  
In the next moment, he was back onto his feet. Tomo gave a sigh of relief, and kept slogging onward like a bedraggled soldier. He had to reach the homey warmth of the lamp in the window, in the very least. He was so very heavy, so cold, so sleepy that it seemed miles and an eternity away. The cloak had ceased to be useful any longer, as sodden and soaked as it was, so he unfastened the silver clip at his throat and allowed it to slip away. It landed in a puddle with a satisfying thump.  
  
The moment the rain began pounding his body, he began to tremble violently. The thin silk tunic and trousers weren't worth the money he had dished for them. Gone was Ryo Chuin, the boy, and Jing, the opera actor, and Tomo, the seishi. There was only a tenuous spirit and a heavy, half- frozen body left.  
  
Quickly his mind froze until there was only the heavy, plodding steps. Finally, within five feet of his goal, Tomo fell, instinctively curling up against the cold that he no longer felt. He gave one long, inhuman cry, a wail of tortured pain, and then there was nothing.  
  
I watch you when you sleep so soundly.  
  
You're so beautiful, my love.  
  
Sleep forever in peace beneath the willow tree.  
  
Let its weeping lull your heart.  
  
He awoke to the sounds of a woman humming as she worked, the tune unbearably familiar. The rain fell still, but he was warm and sheltered, wrapped in a quilt and lying beside the hearth. He could hear the crackling of the fire, feel its heat on his cheeks. His hair had been well-brushed, and his body was dry and clean.  
  
The lady knelt before him, gently easing him into a sitting position. "You're awake, aren't you?" Her voice was barely a whisper, her touch soft and warm on his cheeks. "Sip this, sir."  
  
Tomo did as he was bid, for once not arguing, and got a mouthful of hot, salty broth. It was surprisingly delicious, and he gave a soft mewling sound in request for more, which he was quickly granted.  
  
"How did you manage to get out into that storm, sir? You could have been killed!" Her voice was faintly accusatory, but soft as a sparrow's cry. He was dependent on her. She had become his surrogate mother when he could not fend for himself.  
  
"I was... on a mission," Tomo whispered, opening his eyes to find a brown-haired angel carefully cradling his shoulders and upper body in her lap. She had great blue eyes that shimmered softly in the firelight, and a pale face that showed genuine concern.  
  
Concern for him? Nobody had ever shown concern for him, he was the extra with no part whatsoever in the big scheme of the story. "You've been sick for so long. I was worried about you." Her full lips trembled softly with upset. "You cried in your sleep. I comforted you."  
  
There are several constants in life.  
  
The morning always comes.  
  
The sun always sets.  
  
And the willow always weeps over lost love.  
  
Tomo felt at home in the soft gardenia-scented embrace, and he closed his eyes again, a small smile creeping over his lips. "You were worried for me? That's impossible, miss. Nobody ever worries about me. If you knew who I am..." He had to fight to keep the fuzzy silence from engulfing him again. She had to know who she sheltered in her home, thereby inviting disapproval down over herself and her family. For she had to be wed, there was no way such a beauty could be overlooked.  
  
"It hardly matters who you are, sir. You must rest." She leaned down to brush her lips over his cheeks in a purely maternal gesture. He had become a child again. He knew he must forget all of what he was.  
  
"Can you help me forget, miss? I don't want to be myself any longer. I've hurt so many people," Tomo whispered, closing those brilliant amber eyes to keep his emotions from showing. His personality was full of regret, full of sorrow. Surely if he could get past this curtain of sadness, it would all be okay.  
  
She combed her slender fingers through his soft sable tresses. "You will stay with me until you are well, and after that, as long as you wish." Her voice took on a wistful note. "I so rarely get visitors. I will help you forget," she decided, smiling tenderly down at him as she took his face between her slender hands. "Look at me?" Her voice became pleading.  
  
He opened his amber eyes, showing her the desperate sadness there, showing her the old wounds that had been so viciously torn back open so many times. Finally, with the smallest of smiles, she lowered her lips to his, capturing them in the sweetest of kisses. There was healing in that kiss, so very gentle and lulling that Tomo could almost feel it knit the stuff of his spirit back together. His eyes sank shut as he felt the fever recede, as he felt all the old obligations lift from his proud shoulders.  
  
After a long moment, she drew back. Her lips were as soft as they had seemed, and the soft melancholy he saw flickering in her eyes was his own. "Never be sorry, sir. You're free." She smiled sadly. He felt as though his heart would break for the gentle lady.  
  
While there is summer in your gaze, I am still in winter.  
  
When you smile, I have to laugh.  
  
You and the willow are so very close friends.  
  
But you're so very different.  
  
"Who are you, beautiful mistress?" He sat up, tears of happiness, of buoyant freedom, in his eyes. Just imagine. There would be no more bloodshed, there would be no more loneliness.  
  
"I am Tsuyu. And yourself? Who are you, sir? Anyone you would ever want to be. You have that freedom now. You have no reason to stay beyond your will." Tsuyu looked up into his brilliant eyes. His kiss was kind, sweet, and gentle. Why had she allowed his sadness to convince her? He was yet another for her to love and lose. Those that she helped would always fly away on their new wings of song, leaving Tsuyu bereft and alone.  
  
"I will be Kaede. You seem so lonely, Tsuyu. What is wrong?" He freed himself from his cocoon of blankets, then drew her close to his bare chest, leaning his face over her shoulder. His sable strands mixing with her pale chocolate ones was a poetic nuance that he could not overlook. No matter how ill he had been, no matter how many baths Tsuyu had given him, that sweet, spicy scent that accompanied him had never faded. Now it enveloped her in a cloud of dreams.  
  
"I'm certain you'll flee as others have before," Tsuyu said, leaning back against him. She could allow herself this little comfort. His presence was sleekly male, pleasantly strong, engulfing her tiny feminine form in his arms. "Kaede, you will, won't you?" Sadness whispered softly in her tone, no matter how she tried to mask it.  
  
"I may just stay, Tsuyu. Nothing is certain." Kaede's voice was softly cajoling as he tried to convince her into a more joyous state of mind. Almost shyly he skimmed his lips against her cheek. This was pure Ryo Chuin, no longer the cruel Tomo, just kindness and gentleness and all that had been hidden beneath the rough scars on his heart.  
  
He was lushly male. Tsuyu could not forget that fact, with the well- muscled hold he had on her sweet, doll-like body. Lazily she reached up and seized a lock of his hair to twine her fingers in. Goodness help her, but she was in love.  
  
Have we stepped back onto the path?  
  
We're only just beginning to remember who we are.  
  
Love is in our hands as we gaze into the endless skies.  
  
We are so very fragile, so very sweet.  
  
Can we be together?  
  
Can the willow's tears of sadness be tears of joy?  
  
Light has become our avatar and trademark.  
  
We can laugh again.  
  
Tears no longer fill our eyes.  
  
In this world we're a step to love.  
  
We're the weeping willow, the healers of sad hearts.  
  
You're the fall of willow branches, sweet and summery.  
  
I support you, the soundless breath in my heart your life.  
  
We are a silent reminder of love's abiding grace.  
  
We're yours and our own.  
  
There's a legend about the two of them, the maple and the dewdrop. It says that if ever you are in the eastern part of China during a winter rainstorm and see through the sheeting rain a lamp in a window, that it's Kaede and Tsuyu, leading you toward your true love.  
  
Their lamp is the brightness of their own love. 


End file.
